


Damned If You Do

by FalconLux



Series: W.I.P. Collection [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon through Order of the Phoenix, Dark Harry, Diverges from Canon post OoTP, Explicit Sexual Content, Harry Potter in Azkaban, M/M, Manipulative Dumbledore, May Never Be Completed, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Powerful Harry, Sane Voldemort, Sexy Voldemort, Tags May Change, Voyeurism, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 06:22:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5901640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalconLux/pseuds/FalconLux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Convicted of murdering Arabella Figg and sentenced to Life in Azkaban, Harry Potter discovers the Power the Dark Lord knows not.  After getting to know Tom Riddle on the most personal level, will he still fight for the side of the Light?</p><p>WARNING: This is an unfinished W.I.P.  I will post the 5 chapters that I have written, but can make no promises of it continuing or being finished. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Damned If You Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The smut is in the second scene of the third chapter, if that's what you're here for. ;)

**/5 August 1996\**

Harry couldn’t believe it.  He sat in stunned silence while he listened to the Minister explain the fact that everyone who could have had any chance of proving his innocence were unable to testify on his behalf.  Due to the binding nature of a Life Debt, no one who owed him one or any of their family were able to speak for him as it would be assumed that they would do so regardless of any evidence.  Evidently, even Veritaserum could be adversely affected by the magic of a life debt.  That meant the Weasley family and Hermione.  Well, Snape, too, though it wasn’t like he would have anyway.  Then there was Neville and Luna and their families.  Harry wasn’t exactly sure when he’d saved their lives, but he assumed it was at some point during that disaster in the Department of Mysteries.  They’d both been tested and there was no doubt that they were magically indebted to him even if the spell to detect it couldn’t explain where it came from.

Remus couldn’t testify because he was technically a dark creature.  Mad-Eye _had_ testified on Harry’s behalf, which was somewhat surprising, but as he could provide little more than a character reference since he wasn’t really there – and since he was largely considered a paranoid crazy person – that hadn’t been much help beyond a bit of a morale boost for Harry.

Harry could not be put under Veritaserum since there could, evidently, be damage done to his magical core as he was underage and his core still not stable.  He’d asked to have his memories reviewed, only to be rejected because memories could be faked.  He’d disputed that by telling them firmly that, while it was possible, _he_ certainly couldn’t manage that kind of mental focus.  It took a master Occlumens to make a fake memory detailed enough to fool even a child.  Of course, they hadn’t listened.  It was incredibly clear that Fudge and many others _wanted_ him locked up.

When the guilty verdict was read and Harry was sentenced to life in Azkaban for murder and the use of an Unforgiveable, Harry started to laugh.  He laughed harder than he’d ever laughed in his life, and he laughed all the way out of the courtroom despite his dementor guards.

Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the so-called Savior of the Wizarding World, was being condemned to Azkaban based almost solely on the fact that he’d done too many good deeds in his life.  He’d managed to save so many people that he’d destroyed any chance at a defense.  It was bloody hilarious, really.  He was being condemned because he was a good person with a saving-people-thing.

The guards who tossed him into the cell where he would spend the rest of his life had looked distinctly unnerved by the fact that he was still laughing.

* * *

 

**One Year Later**

**\2 August 1997/**

Harry’s amusement with the whole situation had been bled dry within his first week in the hell commonly known as Azkaban.  Rage had taken its place.  Rage for Fudge and the rest of those idiots that had let him be locked away.  Even more though, was his rage for Albus Dumbledore.  The man had not testified against him, since he’d not been able to give any evidence, but he’d sat there through the whole trial giving Harry such looks of disappointment.  Harry had watched as almost everyone else in the room had kept sneaking glances at the old man, and he could see the affect it had had on them.  They could see that Dumbledore thought Harry was guilty, and that was enough evidence for them.

Since he’d been locked up, Harry had spent a lot of time thinking about Dumbledore – rose-colored glasses permanently removed and crushed underfoot.  The more he thought about it, the more obvious it became.  So obvious, in fact, that he was incredibly disappointed in himself at being taken in by that puppet master for so long.

The air chilled, and Harry braced himself for the dementors that he knew were coming around again.  He bowed his head as the nightmares were brought to the surface, and took refuge deeper in his mind, as he’d been training himself to do since the second week.  It was at that point that he’d realized he would be insane in a matter of months if he couldn’t find some way to deal with the dementors.  It had been a rocky start, but he’d been diligent – having absolutely nothing else to do with his time, and ample opportunity for practice did help.  It was far from pleasant, but he’d eventually discovered how to put himself into a kind of trance, hiding his conscious mind within his unconscious mind so that the dementors could do their worst and not affect him at all.

It wasn’t all that simple, of course.  He was still perfecting the technique, and had only gotten good enough to fully escape them in the last couple of weeks.  Still, it had given him a purpose in here, and that alone had been a tremendous help.  The fact that he was steadily, if slowly, making progress had been a boon as well.

This time, he found himself deeper than he’d ever been before, sequestered within very old and forgotten memories.  Memories of a beautiful, green-eyed witch and a handsome hazel-eyed wizard. 

Some hours later, Harry emerged from his mind with tears falling freely down his cheeks, having met his parents for the first time.

* * *

 

**Two Months Later**

**|1 year, 2 months in Azkaban|**

**\12 October 1997/**

It was with reluctance that Harry left the deepest recesses of his mind once more.  He spent a lot of time there, but he had to come up to eat, sleep, and relieve himself lest his body waste away while he lived in his forgotten memories.  He often found it amusing that the dementors – which were so renowned for taking away all happiness – had led him to find the happiest memories of his life.

He’d been through every waking moment of the first fifteen months of his life many times over now, as it was evidently much quicker to relive memories than it was to go through them in the first place.  He didn’t even have to go there to remember now, since seeing them had brought them into his conscious recollection, but when he viewed them in his subconscious, it was like living them all over again – apart from having a more mature mind.  He couldn’t change anything, but he could see, hear, taste, touch, and smell exactly like he was really there.  The unconditional love that he saw every time his parents looked at him filled him with such happiness that he was sure he could create a patronus powerful enough to obliterate every dementor in Azkaban were he able to access his magic in this place.

Of course, his parents had not worried about what they said in front of their young son, assuming correctly that he could not understand the context of their discussions.  Reviewing the memories now, however, Harry understood everything.  Some of it was distinctly… disturbing.  His mum had cried for almost two weeks straight when she’d learned one little detail concerning her grandfather.  Harry had been shocked to learn that his mother was adopted – a fact she’d learned only after reading a letter enclosed in her parents’ wills when they’d been killed in a car accident in March of 1981.  That discovery had led her to searching out her birth parents.  Evidently, she’d been orphaned as an infant – hence the adoption and her not knowing about it.  Her grandfather was still alive, but she’d had no interest in visiting him at Nurmengard, where he’d been since long before she was born.

He ate the provided meal quickly as he had learned to do, made use of the bucket stuck in the corner that automatically vanished his waste, and then did some stretches and a brief workout as he did after each meal.  Considering that he was sentenced to spend the rest of his life in this hell, it shouldn’t matter if his muscles atrophied, but Harry still held out hope of leaving one day.  After all, if Dumbledore was right about the prophecy, he’d have to kill Voldemort at some point – or get killed by him.  So there was a chance.  Of course, there was also a chance that Voldie would show up at Azkaban to break out his minions and just kill Harry while he was there and next to helpless without a wand.  If that day did come, Harry hoped that he’d at least be strong enough to attempt to flee or maybe find a wand and put up some kind of fight.  If he was going to die, he could accept that, but he sure as shit wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

And if he did manage to kill that psycho and the ministry still expected him to live the rest of his life in prison… well, Harry promised himself that he’d find a way to escape and then…  Then he’d pull their world down around their ears, even if that did make him the next Dark Lord.

He shook himself from his grim thoughts when he felt the dementors coming around again.  The guard dogs were punctual.  If Harry had a watch, he imagined he could set it by their rounds.  Not that he had a watch.  Or any notion of the date.  Since his cell didn’t have a window, and the temperature only changed based on the dementors’ rounds, he didn’t even know if it was summer or winter.  Time passed rather strangely in Azkaban, and Harry couldn’t even guess at how long he’d been there except that it was something between half a year and three – probably.  It felt like a decade, but he knew it was most likely less than that.

He fell back into the depths of his mind, but before he could lose himself in his memories, he felt something… strange.  It took him a surprisingly long time to identify it, and when he did, he felt a thrill of fear course through him.  His connection to Voldemort.  He’d all but forgotten it, but it was still there.

There was a small, tight bundle of thoughts and emotions in the darkest corner of his subconscious mind, hidden in such shadows of his own darker memories that he’d never paid it any mind before.  He only noticed it now because it was pulsing with anger and… frustration.  Voldemort was upset about something.

Harry had some considerable reservations about touching that little node of darkness, but curiosity coupled with extreme boredom won out in the end.  He reached out to it tentatively, and the moment that his conscious mind touched it, he felt himself yanked right into it.  There was a vague sensation of traveling down a tunnel, or falling into a hole…  Actually, it was a bit like sliding down that pipe toward the Chamber of Secrets.  It was dark and filled with the fear of not knowing if you were about to drop off into the Abyss.

And then it was over.  His senses flip-flopped before settling again, and he found himself staring at a room full of robed but unmasked Death Eaters – which made him instinctively unnerved, but Voldemort’s consciousness was too closely linked to his to reach real panic.  Plus, he did know that he wasn’t really there.  He wasn’t sure if Voldie could sense him, but he knew that no one else was aware of him.

“ _Crucio_!” he snarled in a high, cold voice, icy satisfaction suffusing him as he watched Bellatrix writhe beneath his wand.

Harry couldn’t help but feel a little satisfied, too, considering the identity of the one being tortured.  _Hurts, doesn’t it, bitch!_   He thought fiercely.

Voldemort did not seem aware of the fact that he was playing host to his worst enemy as he went on about the business of torturing several more Death Eaters.  Finally, he released Nott Sr. from the latest curse and looked over the frightened faces of those still standing.

“Severus,” he purred in a way that was distinctly unnerving.

Snape stepped forward with a respectful but blank mask over his features, somehow managing to look unafraid despite the fact that the last five Death Eaters called forward had been tortured rather severely.  “My Lord,” he intoned, lowering himself to one knee and bowing his head.

Harry could feel Voldemort’s satisfaction with this minion as he’d not felt with any of the previous.  Evidently, Snape was one of a very few highly favored by the Dark Lord.  “Rise.”

Snape stood fluidly, still exposing no emotion.

“Tell me of the Order, Severus,” Harry commanded – no _Voldemort_ commanded.  It was disturbingly difficult to keep that distinction in mind.

“Dumbledore continues to hint that he has some new weapon to turn the tide of the war, but I suspect he is lying to keep up morale.  I do believe he is searching for something, but he is keeping it very secret.  I don’t think anyone except him knows what it is that he is hoping to find.”

Tom was wary of this news, but he was inclined to believe Severus’ deductions.  If Dumbledore did have a weapon, it was probably something ridiculous and quaint – like another child he intended to offer up for slaughter.

“There is one more thing…” Severus said with extreme reluctance, and Tom felt dread pool in his stomach.  If Severus was that nervous about giving this detail, it meant that it was something he wasn’t going to like.  He narrowed his eyes and his spy rushed on despite his discomfort.  “He has not explained its significance, my Lord, but he seemed very pleased at discovering and destroying two things that he claims had been yours.”

The pool of dread froze solid.  “What items, Severus?” he asked very softly.

“A ring, my Lord.  A gold band with a black stone.  And a diadem-“

“ _Crucio_!”

 _How?_   How had that old man found them?  How had he known what they were?  With an effort, he reeled in his sudden burst of panic and lifted the curse from his favorite Death Eater, somewhat sorry that he’d not held his temper.  Severus was too valuable to risk on his fits of temper.

“Out,” he growled quietly.  “Everyone!  Out!  Now!”

The room cleared with typical rapidity, and Tom lowered himself wearily into a chair, absently flicking his wrist to lock and ward the door.  It really wouldn’t do for some idiot to wander in when he was this upset.  He’d most likely kill them before he even noted their identity, and he did have a few Death Eaters he would hate to lose.

Slipping away his wand, he ran his hands tiredly over his face.  That was three horcruxes gone.  The diary, thanks to Lucius and that Potter brat.

Harry felt slightly indignant at that, despite his interest in what these horcruxes were.

Now, Dumbledore had destroyed two more.  Perhaps that explained the… unusual things he’d been feeling these past two weeks.  No part of his soul could be destroyed while any other part remained in the mortal world, so when the horcruxes were destroyed, the soul fragments would have returned to him.

The weaknesses he’d purged from himself were coming back.

He thought about that for a long time, frowning deeply all the while.  The problem was that he didn’t _feel_ weaker.  He felt… stronger now.  He had been since what he could only assume was the point at which the second horcrux was lost two weeks ago.

Tom did not like to admit that he’d been wrong – particularly about something this important – but it was difficult to doubt.  The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became.  Splitting his soul had weakened him, even while it had hardened his resolve and removed his doubts, it had weakened his body and magic.  Why had _that_ never been mentioned in any of the books he’d found?

He smirked slightly when he thought about that fact that Dumbledore was actually making him stronger by destroying the horcruxes.  Perhaps…  It went against his instincts, but perhaps he should allow the old man to destroy the rest of them.  He’d still have Nagini, after all.  There was no way that he was going to kill her – unless it became absolutely necessary, anyway.  She was the only thing in this whole wretched world that Lord Voldemort cared about.  Though he would promptly murder anyone who ever suggested that he was afflicted by something as mundane as _affection_.  It wouldn’t be possible for him to destroy his own horcruxes, or call his soul back to him, but he could allow someone else to do it for him.

He’d need to give it some more thought, but for now, he’d leave the locket and cup where they were.  Searching for them would keep Dumbledore distracted and let him think he was actually winning.  If he ever did manage to destroy them, it would not be a great loss.  In the meantime, Tom needed to do some research into alternate forms of immortality.  Having only a snake – even one as magnificent as Nagini – standing between him and death did not sit at all well with the Dark Lord.  Maybe it was time to find Flamel’s notes.  Surely the man had recorded the method for creating the Philosopher’s Stone.

Harry blinked as he withdrew from Voldemort’s mind and returned to his own within his cell.  That had been… incredibly informative – if a bit disturbing.  So he knew what it was that had made Tom Riddle immortal – and evidently weaker.  And Dumbledore didn’t even know that he was doing the Dark Lord a favor by destroying things that Voldemort probably would have destroyed himself had he been able to do so.

Harry cursed under his breath, beyond frustrated.  He was trapped in Azkaban, unable to do anything, or even contact anyone who was in a place to do something.  And he knew what the other three horcruxes were, and even _where_ they were, since he’d seen it in Tom’s mind when the man had been thinking about them.  Not that he really would have known what to do with that information if he did have it.  Apparently, Voldie couldn’t die while those horcruxes existed.  But he would be even stronger than he was when they were destroyed.  It seemed like a really shitty conundrum to Harry.  Damned if you do and damned if you don’t.

Maybe Dumbledore did have it right.  Even if it was making the man stronger, they had to go.  Still, it would have been awfully damn nice to warn someone that Voldemort was going to go after Nicolas Flamel’s research notes.  If Voldemort did manage to make himself a Philosopher’s Stone… that would be Bad.  And there was nothing that Harry could do about it.

After some thought, Harry sent his mind back to Voldemort.  Going on the assumption that he was eventually going to end up facing the man either in or out of Azkaban, Harry decided that he was going to arm himself with all the knowledge he could get, even if he couldn’t use it yet.


	2. The Tom Riddle School of Magic

**Six Months Later**

**|1 year, 8 months in Azkaban|**

**\6 April 1998/**

Harry left Tom’s mind and collapsed on the floor of his cell, struggling to fight off a panic attack.  When he’d managed to get his breathing under control, he fought against the urge to scream himself hoarse in sheer frustration.  All of his hatred for Dumbledore, Fudge, and the rest came back in force.  It had been six months – he now kept track of the date through Tom – but Tom had finally succeeded in finding the alternate means to immortality for which he’d been searching.  And, if it worked the way he hoped, then Tom was going to be considerably _more_ immortal than the horcruxes had ever made him.

Harry was the only other person in the world who knew of his plans, and he had no way to stop him or warn anyone.  And it was all Dumbledore’s fault.  Well, Dumbledore and Fudge.  In the six months that Harry had been spending almost every waking hour inside Tom’s head, he’d found not the slightest indication that Tom was responsible for his incarceration as he’d more than half expected in the beginning.  No, as it turned out, it was just really crappy luck combined with a bunch of ministerial idiots and one senile, manipulative old man.

Harry had found during his trips into the mind of his arch enemy – if he could be called such anymore – that he’d been sadly misinformed about a great many things in his life.  Namely, Tom Riddle.  The man was a sadist, yes, and more than a little crazy – though both of those faults seemed to be waning as his horcruxes were destroyed.  Dumbledore had gotten the locket a couple months ago, and it was easy for Harry to see how much more dangerous Tom was getting.  His return to sanity alone made him a lot more dangerous, but his magic was getting more powerful, too.  Evidently, since he’d started making them before his core was mature, he’d never even realized the lack.

He’d discovered that he could actually access Tom’s memories, not just his current thoughts and emotions.  It was easiest when the man was asleep, but it basically worked just like Harry’s ability to see his own memories.  By rooting into the deepest recesses of Tom’s mind, Harry was able to page through every moment of the man’s life.  He’d found a great many disturbing things there.  Such as his abhorrent childhood in that vile excuse for an orphanage.  Just like in Harry’s own mind, he lived through those old memories, not with the distance of a pensieve memory, but just like he was experiencing it himself.  He was able to follow the man’s thought processes, feeling every pain and pleasure along the way.

And he found himself empathizing.  He understood how Tom Riddle had become Lord Voldemort.  It was a series of steps taken by an emotionally damaged boy, each seeming strangely reasonable at the time, and each leading into the next.

He also found his hatred for Dumbledore increasing by _leaps and bounds_.  The ponce had met a damaged little boy, and after just ten minutes’ conversation, had decided that he needed to be closely monitored.  He’d never once tried to help, actually making things much worse by ensuring that he had to go back to that orphanage every summer when Dippet probably would have been convinced to bend the rules otherwise.

It was sickeningly similar to Harry’s own experiences.  Though Dumbledore had always seemed to dote on Harry, it was easy to see now that he’d been manipulating him the entire time.  Between his own reminiscences on the subject and the new perspective he’d gained through Tom’s experiences, Dumbledore’s true colors were coming through clearer than ever.

And Harry _hated_ the man.

While Harry had been following Tom through his days, he’d also been spending the nights in his memories, and he’d learned more than he’d ever thought possible in six months.  He’d been through the first eighteen years of the man’s life so far, and had just seen him graduate Hogwarts with an unbelievable thirteen NEWTs, and the highest overall scores in over two centuries, having just surpassed Dumbledore’s marks.

The really interesting thing about this was that Harry was learning a great deal of magic.  Having lived through Tom learning it all, Harry emerged from the memories with a solid knowledge of every spell he mastered, every book he read, and every theory he made.  It was incredibly exhilarating, not least of which because he could go through the memories so fast.  Eighteen years’ worth of knowledge in six months.  At this rate, he’d know everything Tom Riddle knew in less than two years.  If he could make it that long before he had to fight him, he would actually stand a chance of winning.  Well, assuming he could get a wand.

Tom did seem to be a master of wandless magic though.  Harry wondered when he’d learned it all, but he intended to find out and hoped that his magical core was strong enough to manage it.  He assumed that it was.  If the prophecy was right, Harry was supposed to be his equal.  And for the first time, it actually seemed possible that he could be.

The problem was that he could not imagine how he was supposed to kill the man if his latest bid for immortality actually worked.

* * *

**Another Six Months Later**

**|2 years, 2 months in Azkaban|**

**\26 October 1998/**

Harry was nestled firmly in Tom’s conscious mind – it was interesting that, in his private thoughts, Tom still thought of himself as Tom despite his homicidal hatred of being called such.  At present, Tom was preparing the final steps of the ritual that would make him immortal.  More immortal than the horcruxes ever had.  If it worked, there would be no more drifting around as a soul until he could get a new body.

Tom had gotten his soul back into one piece over the last six months.  Dumbledore had been kind enough to get rid of the last inanimate horcruxes after Tom had graciously moved the cup out of Gringotts – ostensibly in an attempt to better protect it.  It had taken three months of experiments, but he’d eventually figured out how to transfer the horcrux in Nagini into an inanimate object, which Severus had then destroyed on his order.

It had become abundantly clear to Harry that Dumbledore was very wrong about which side Severus was on.  His devotion to Tom was complete, and Harry personally thought the man had earned his place as Tom’s favorite Death Eater between his loyalty and his various skills as potions’ master and spy.  Harry knew that he should have hated the man for being on Tom’s side, but the last year watching him through Tom’s eyes had had the opposite effect.  No matter how wrong he knew it was, he actually respected him a lot more than he’d ever done before.  Harry attributed this fact to some kind of Stockholm Syndrome resulting from spending _way_ too much time with his arch enemy, but he wasn’t too worried about it.  At the moment, it hardly mattered.

Though Harry had found a way to protect himself from the dementors, he knew that it was his trips into Tom’s mind that had truly saved his sanity.  While he may not have been completely barmy after two years alone with his memories and nothing else, he would not have been a very well-adjusted individual.  Getting _that_ lost in his past really couldn’t be good for a person.  By living through Tom’s eyes during the day and his past during the night, Harry had found both purpose and education together, and that, more than anything, kept him going.

Presently, while Tom was preparing for the ritual, Harry was trying to remember that this was a bad thing.  He was trying to remind himself that Tom was the bad guy in this war.  It was hard though.  Between Harry’s hatred of Dumbledore and the Ministry, and his understanding of Tom and his goals…  Well, lately he’d come to feel that Tom’s methods were the only thing for which he was truly at fault.  As his sanity had returned, he’d curtailed his plans a lot.  Though he still disliked mudbloods – _muggleborns_ , Harry reminded himself – Tom _had_ recalled that he had not originally planned to destroy them.  That had been propaganda to build his ranks of Death Eaters.  Tom still didn’t remember exactly when he’d lost himself in his own sermons, but he was taking steps to correct the oversight, gently steering his minions in the direction he wished.

In his refined version of a perfect world, mudbloods would be taken from their muggle parents as infants and raised by wizarding parents.  With a proper magical upbringing, they would not be nearly so inferior.  And he was gradually proving to his pureblood subjects that, as much as they wished to deny it, the wizarding world was not large enough to survive on inbreeding alone for too many more generations.

Harry’s attention piqued as Tom finished the runic circle and lit the candles in the chamber with a negligent flick of his wrist.  He took a moment to center himself, calling up magic from his core until he was almost literally glowing with the force of it, he shoved that magic into the runes as he began to chant in an ancient Sumerian language that Harry understood only because he was hearing it through Tom’s thoughts and Tom understood it.

Despite himself, Harry found himself almost boiling with the power of the magic surrounding him, a giddy feeling building in his chest as the magic reached a crescendo.

Then there was a magnificent burst of flame within the circle, which quickly resolved into…

_Fawkes?_  Harry thought in disbelief.

“Great Phoenix, I command you-“ Tom started.

_You do not command me, mortal!_ The phoenix’s voice boomed in Tom/Harry’s head, causing them both to cringe slightly.  _You may request and I may choose to grant, but you do not command.  Make that mistake again, and you will not live to regret it!_

_Oh, you’d really better listen,_ Harry thought uneasily, wondering if he might be in danger from his observing position.

Tom debated briefly before deciding that the phoenix was not bluffing after all.  “My apologies,” he offered hesitantly, not even choking on the uncharacteristic words.  Apparently, Tom Riddle was not incapable of recognizing when he was outmatched.  “It seems that my information regarding this ritual was… incomplete.”

_Indeed,_ Fawkes – and Harry was now pretty sure that it actually _was_ Fawkes – replied indignantly.  _Make your request, mortal._

Tom frowned warily at the bird, as he finally realized that it bore a startling resemblance to Dumbledore’s familiar.

_I am companion to Albus Dumbledore,_ Fawkes supplied, making both Harry and Tom uneasy by reading Tom’s mind.  _Phoenix do not have masters, though we sometimes take companions.  He is mine._

Tom seethed internally at that.  Actually, Harry did a bit too despite the fact that he had always liked Fawkes.  He truly hated Dumbledore as much as Tom did now.

Fawkes cocked his head at Tom and waited.

Tom took a deep breath and began carefully, “Great phoenix, I would request of you the gift of immortality.”

_And what makes you worthy of this gift?_ Fawkes inquired neutrally.  _For what purpose would you use it?_

“I would use it to save the magical world,” Tom explained.

Again, Fawkes cocked his head in a thoughtful way.  _The danger is greater and more acute than you realize, mortal,_ he said after a moment.  _It is a feat that you cannot accomplish alone._

“There are many who stand with me-“ Tom started.

_No,_ Fawkes corrected.  _There are many who stand_ behind _you.  Only with your equal at your side, neither behind nor before, shall you succeed._

Tom was stunned and not a little annoyed at hearing this.  “Who is my equal?” he demanded, struggling to rein in his temper.  If it said Dumbledore, he was going to…

Harry, for his part, was even more stunned.  Considerably more.  If the prophecy was true…

_You have met him thrice.  Once, he escaped you.  Twice, he defeated you._

Tom was not a genius for nothing, and it took him mere seconds to draw the proper conclusion.  _No…_ his mind supplied with considerable incredulity.  “Potter?” he almost spat.

Fawkes made no indication to confirm or deny, but Harry, for one, didn’t need it.

“That brat cannot be my equal!” Tom insisted.  The idea of _anyone_ – even Dumbledore – being his equal disturbed Tom.  The idea of that impertinent brat being his equal was utterly repulsive.  “He is but a child!” Tom pressed.

Fawkes ignored his petulant tantrum.  _He is not wrong, my friend._   This sounded a bit different, and, with a start, Harry realized that Fawkes had said that last to him alone.  _The world will not survive what is coming as it is.  Only together, with his brutality and your mercy may victory be known by anyone.  Continue your study.  You will know when the time is right._

Tom had not heard that part, but he had brought his temper back under control.  “So I must… ally with Harry Potter in order to receive your gift?” he inquired stiffly.  “The boy is hardly likely to accept such an offer.”

_You must do nothing to receive this gift, mortal,_ Fawkes corrected, now speaking so that they could both hear.  _You are worthy, as is your cause.  Heed my warning though.  When the boy comes to you, and he will, do not condemn the world to destruction for your pride._

Before Tom could respond, Fawkes vanished from the runic circle with a burst of flame, and an instant later, the flame engulfed Tom.

Harry, in his cell, found himself suddenly on fire as well.  He screamed as the flames burned him exactly like real fire.  Tom was screaming, too.  Harry found that he could not withdraw from Tom’s mind, and suffered doubly as they both burned.

At some point, his body failed, and darkness took him away.


	3. Boys Will Be Boys

**Six Months Later**

**|2 years, 8 months in Azkaban|**

**\13 April 1999/**

Harry yanked himself out of Tom’s mind, gasping for air and struggling against the sobs that tried to suffocate him.  He curled into a ball on the floor of his cell and wrapped his arms around his head, and wept.

He was up to 1960 in Tom’s memories now, and he’d just discovered something that had shaken the very foundations of his world.  Despite any amount of understanding he’d gained for the man, this was…

Somewhat surprisingly, Tom had never been a sexually promiscuous individual, and the more horcruxes he’d created, the less inclination he’d felt toward that base desire, but there had been a few.  One of them had been Morgana Grindelwald.  Nine months before Lily Evans was born.  Tom did not seem to have been aware of the fact that a child had been the product of that union – at least not as far as Harry had gotten through the man’s memories – but Harry had no doubt.  It explained the resemblance between himself and the sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle from the diary.  It explained Harry’s parseltongue.  It probably even explained how powerful he was and Lily had been.

Harry didn’t know if he was more disturbed by the fact that he was the grandson of Tom Riddle or the fact that Tom had killed his own daughter.  He was just grateful that his mother had never known.  Finding out that her grandfather was Grindelwald had been difficult enough for her.

Merlin, this also meant that Harry was a true heir of Slytherin.  Bloody hell.  No wonder the Hat had tried to put him in the House of Snakes.

Harry shivered as the dementors drew near again and instinctively shifted into his other form.  From Tom’s memories, he knew that it wasn’t quite an animagus transformation, but it was something very similar – except for the fact that an animagus could not become a magical creature.  This was directly related to Fawkes’ gift, which seemed to have affected him and Tom equally.

In an instant, his body and magic responded to his will and the filthy, bedraggled inmate was replaced by a brilliant white phoenix.  Harry hadn’t been able to fully examine his form since he had no mirror, but he did know that he was a white phoenix.  He assumed that he looked basically like Tom, who _had_ been able to examine himself thoroughly.  Tom was a solid black phoenix, probably not surprisingly.  They were equal and opposite, Harry had gathered.  Similar in so many ways, and yet completely dissimilar in others.  This was just one more example.

When he’d woken from that first burning, he’d felt like his skin had been scrubbed completely raw.  His eyes burned at the dim light, and he’d felt like he was running a fever.  Brief trips into Tom’s mind had confirmed that they were experiencing the same discomforts.  Along with the ability to change forms and – allegedly – immortality, Harry had discovered that they could use the phoenix flame travel. 

Yes, Harry now had the ability to leave Azkaban any time he chose.  His first attempt had taken him across the width of his cell.  His second had taken him to an alley out behind his old primary school.  His third to Hogsmeade.  And then back to his cell.  Though it had been tempting to leave, Harry had decided to remain a prisoner for the time being.  Fawkes had told him to continue his study, and that he’d know when the time was right.  He could only assume that that meant to live out the rest of Riddle’s life through his memories before he did anything else.  And Azkaban was the safest place for him to do that. 

It really wasn’t _that_ bad, honestly.  He’d gotten used to living in his cell.  The food was adequate and the dementors no longer troubled him – even when he was conscious in his body he felt nothing more than the physical chill of their presence.  Whatever Fawkes had done had evidently given him immunity to the annoying creatures.  So, he figured he’d get up to date with Tom’s memories and knowledge, and then see if the time felt “right”.

Another benefit of the gift was a ridiculously dramatic healing ability.  Tom had done more testing on that than Harry had, since he had options to do himself harm beyond bashing himself against stone walls or iron bars.  Phoenix tears could heal almost anything.  _Being_ a phoenix – or whatever it was they were – seemed to negate the need to cry when it came to self-healing.

Pulling up a memory of his mother smiling at him, Harry drew on pure happiness and trilled out a tune.  The dementors fled as though Death himself were on their heels, and prisoners around him began to laugh in utter joy.

Chuckling internally at how much fun it was to mess with the dementors, Harry shifted back to his human form and returned his mind to Tom’s.  He was determined to figure out if Tom ever discovered that he was a father.  He desperately wanted to know if the man had been aware of the fact that he’d murdered his own daughter and tried to murder his grandson.  Several times.

* * *

**Four Months Later**

**|3 years in Azkaban|**

**\3 August 1999/**

“Dismissed,” Tom waved to his collection of inner circle Death Eaters that had just finished giving their reports.  “Severus, remain behind.”

All but one of the Death Eaters left the room, and the door was closed behind them.  Severus looked as unaffected as ever, though a gentle brush of Legilimency proved that Tom’s faithful spy was somewhat nervous about being kept behind.

“Relax, Severus, you’ve done nothing wrong,” Tom assured him smoothly as he moved to the rear of the room and lowered himself gracefully into an armchair.  He gestured for Severus to take the seat next to him while he picked up the tea the elves had just brought, and sipped.  It was prepared exactly as he liked it, of course.

Severus took his seat with cool grace and accepted a cup of tea with a murmured, “Thank you, my Lord,” when Tom nodded toward it.

Tom watched the younger man thoughtfully while they drank their tea in silence.  This, Tom decided, was one of the inherent weaknesses to having a whole soul.  It had been decades since he’d felt so drawn to another human being.  Severus was not traditionally handsome, but he certainly wasn’t ugly.  He was distinguished, proud, and refined.  Arrogant, to a point, but aware of his own weaknesses.  He was also, quite easily, the most intelligent of the Death Eaters.

Part of Tom was adamant that this sort of attachment was foolish and had no practical benefit.  Yes, it may make Severus more loyal, but that was hardly necessary in this case.  And it would open Tom up to the inherent weakness of having someone in the world that he cared for beyond his usefulness.  Someone that could be used against him.  Someone that could, perhaps, influence him.

Harry could not help but snicker silently as he watched.  This had been brewing for months.  Since shortly after the ritual, actually.  His favoritism of Severus had started to grow into something more that Harry had found shocking in the beginning.  The very idea of Voldemort actually caring about someone other than himself was startling.  The idea of _anyone_ caring about Severus Snape in _that_ way was rather surprising in itself.  Granted, Harry had come to respect the man, but he’d certainly never thought of him _that_ way before Tom had.

Severus really wasn’t that bad though, Harry now recognized – largely influenced by his perception _through_ Tom’s perception he was certain, but still.  It was still damn funny to have a front row seat to the Dark Lord with a crush.  Oh man, Tom would absolutely _kill_ him if he ever found out that Harry had witnessed this.

Tom stood when they’d finished their tea without speaking a word and Severus followed suit.  “Come with me,” Tom said shortly.  He paced to the rear of the room and opened the door there, gesturing for Severus to precede him.  Once the younger man was inside, Tom followed and closed the door behind him.  He stood by the door for a moment, absently locking and warding it while he watched as Severus took in the fact that he was in the Dark Lord’s bedroom, then turned back to face him with the hint of a question in his fathomless black eyes.

Tom smirked slightly and focused his magic to remove the transfiguration he’d been using to keep up the Voldemort appearance since the phoenix gift had reverted him to a perfect twenty-five-year-old version of his true body.  It was rather satisfying to watch Severus’ eyes widen in response.

When he was back to himself, he ran a hand through his thick black hair, allowing it to fall effortlessly into place, and approached the wary potions master slowly.  He was thoroughly enjoying the fact that Severus was beginning to breathe more heavily, and it was not due to fear this time.  When he’d finally closed the distance between them, he stopped just inches away and gently brushed sooty black hair away from Severus’ face.  He could feel the faint film of potions fumes that left it with a terminally greasy appearance, but he wasn’t overly bothered by it.

“You’ll stay here tonight,” Tom informed him, voice just above a whisper.

Severus swallowed hard and Tom’s lips quirked up slightly again.  “Yes, my Lord,” Severus just barely breathed.

Tom frowned faintly.  At the moment, he didn’t appreciate that title as much as he should.  That fact disturbed him somewhat.  He leaned forward and down just slightly to press his lips to the other man’s and relished the tremor that went through Severus’ body at the contact.  He responded deliciously, pressing himself into the kiss, his mouth opening to Tom’s will.  The Dark Lord moved them slowly across the room until he could press the younger man’s back rather roughly against the post at the foot of his bed.  He drew away then, far enough to look into his eyes.

Merlin, it was obscene how much he wanted this man.  “Tonight, Severus,” he said softly, running his knuckles lightly down Severus’ cheek.  “Tonight, you will call me Tom.”

Severus’ eyes widened again and he gasped at hearing that, but Tom gave him no chance to respond as he pressed their lips together once more.  He slid one hand slowly down Severus’ chest, magically opening the buttons as his hand passed them.

Harry was aware of the fact that this was definitely the time to return to his body, but…  Well, he was a nineteen-year-old virgin who’d been in prison for three years, and he found this situation altogether much more exciting than any straight man should despite his years in prison.  So maybe he was slightly bent.  He was truly beyond blushing at the idea by now.  He’d been through more than one such situation in Tom’s memories.  _That_ man had no preference either way when it came to partners.  The only common denominator of Tom’s partners were rather large magical cores.  He seemed to get off mostly on magical power, which, come to think of it, wasn’t at all surprising of Tom Riddle.

After a few seconds of thought, he decided that both of these men had fucked with his life enough that he was under no obligation to respect their privacy.  Conscience thus appeased, he decided to enjoy the show.

Tom only managed to divest Severus’ of his outer robe before his impatience got the better of him.  Shoving his lover down onto the bed, he waved his hand negligently, banishing the rest of his clothes to drape over a chair across the room.  A faint smile touched his lips again as he was able to appreciate his companion’s naked form sprawled out before him like a perfectly delicious offering.  He bore many scars, most of which were evidence of his years of service under the Dark Lord.  A few of the faint silvery ones were older, the result of an abusive childhood that Tom had already viewed in the man’s mind several times.  He was slender, but his muscles were toned, his skin a delectable alabaster portrait of a difficult life.  His dark nipples were erect, his chest sprinkled with black hair, a trail of which led down a toned stomach to a beautiful cock.  It was red and hard, twitching slightly under his scrutiny, and well above average in size.

“Perfect,” Tom decided, lifting his eyes to meet Severus’ again, smiling when he saw how deeply the man was affected by that compliment.  The younger man’s cheeks warmed with a faint blush and his eyes widened as he drew a shuddering breath.

Tom then divested himself of his own clothes with the same spell he’d used on Severus, and drank in the way Severus’ mouth fell open slightly, his eyes becoming half lidded with lust.

“My Lord,” Severus breathed.

Tom narrowed his eyes in irritation and Severus quickly corrected himself with a warily stuttered, “T-tom.”

“Better,” Tom smirked.  He pressed his knee against the mattress between Severus’ legs and leaned forward to capture that sinfully delicious mouth again.  He pressed their erections together and slid his hips forward slowly, relishing the way Severus moaned into his mouth.  Using more magic than muscle, he scooted them both toward the middle of the massive bed.  After a few minutes of aggressive kissing and grinding, Tom leaned back on his knees, nudging the other man’s legs apart.  A silent spell slicked his fingers with lubrication, and he slipped one and then two fingers into the inviting hole laid out before him.

Severus hissed in discomfort while Tom appreciated just how tight it was.  “How long has it been, Severus?” Tom asked quietly while he watched the man’s face, continuing to work his fingers.

“Years,” Severus gasped.  “Five, I think.”

Tom smiled, pleased with the response.  He didn’t like to think about Severus with anyone else.  He added a third finger and watched those bottomless black eyes while Severus worked through the pain and kept his body relaxed.  He’d been under the Cruciatus enough times, and almost never cried out, so Tom had no concern that this pain would greatly disturb the man.  Indeed, his undaunted erection proved that he was not unduly distressed.

Though Tom had not done it in many years, that weeping cock proved to be more temptation than the Dark Lord could resist.  He ran his tongue all the way up the length from base to tip while his fingers continued to loosen him, and tongued the slit, relishing the musky, slightly sharp flavor of the pre-come.  From there, he took the head into his mouth and lifted his eyes to find Severus watching him with lusty elation.

He let that continue for a few minutes before he was convinced that Severus was more than ready for him.  Their lips met again while Tom slicked his shaft and pressed it into Severus with almost painful restraint.  The younger man groaned somewhat desperately while Tom moaned lowly in satisfaction.  He increased his pace steadily until they were both all but shouting their pleasure.  When Tom felt ready to bring the encounter to an end, he reached between them and wrapped his hand around Severus’ shaft.

“Oh yes, Tom, yes!” the potions master gasped and came almost instantly, and the clenching, quivering channel quickly brought Tom to completion as well.

Tom let himself collapse on top of the other man and laid there until both of their breathing had returned to normal.  Finally, he drew himself out and rolled over onto his back, unsure of the last time he’d felt so completely sated.  He waved his hand to clean them both.  “We must do that again soon, Severus,” he sighed.

“I would enjoy that very much, my Lord,” Severus said warily.

“Still Tom,” he smirked.

“Of course,” came the slightly uncertain reply.

Tom rolled out of the bed and Severus hastened to follow.  A silent scourgify cleansed the blankets, and then Tom flipped them back with a crook of his finger and looked at Severus.

The younger man looked uncertain.

Tom smirked.  “I said that you were staying the night, did I not?”

“You did…  Tom,” Severus said, still uncomfortable with the name.

Tom nodded toward the bed and the potions master slid into it, moving toward the middle of the bed.  Tom followed him in and settled the blankets over both of them, then folded his arms over his middle and focused his mind to quickly find sleep.

Harry returned to his own body and let himself collapse back on the floor, grimacing when he realized he’d made a bit of a mess in the only clothes he had.  After a moment of thought, he shifted and flamed away to the alley near his old primary school.  Though he could use his phoenix gifts in Azkaban, he’d yet to manage any ordinary magic there.  Now that he was far from the wards of the island, Harry used a quick scourgify on himself and his clothes, then shifted and returned to his cell.  He curled up on the ratty old blanket on which he slept and reminded himself that he wasn’t going to feel guilty about intruding on that.  There really was no point to feel guilty about that after he’d gone through the majority of Tom’s memories.

He smirked to himself when he remembered the way Tom had been feeling as he’d drifted off.  He may not recognize it yet, but Harry was pretty sure that he was thoroughly smitten.  He very much doubted that Severus had any idea that that had been more than simple lust though.  The entire thing had been one order after another, even if they were unusually polite.  Severus must be so confused.  Harry was betting he didn’t doze off all night.

He found himself chuckling out loud for some time before sending his mind back to Tom for his nightly jaunt down memory lane.


	4. Exonerated

**Three Months Later**

**|3 years, 3 months in Azkaban|**

**\16 November 1999/**

Harry blinked several times as he returned to his own body.  His eyes were moist, but no tears fell.  The later years of the first war that he’d recently been living through in Tom’s memories were so horrible that he’d become mostly numb to horrible things by now, but tonight’s long-anticipated memory had still been difficult to go through.  To not only watch Tom kill his parents, but to be so entrenched in the memory that it very nearly felt like he was the one doing it.  Worst of all though, was the fact that the entire thing felt so _reasonable_ from Tom’s perspective.

He had not, as of that event, learned of his relation to Lily.  To him, the Potters were just two more enemies in the war.  Harry had been one of the largest potential threats he’d ever faced.  And really, after everything he’d done up to that point, murdering one innocent child meant nothing compared to the potential gain of the act.  It was _amazingly_ disturbing for Harry to find himself in the situation of justifying the murder of his parents and attempted murder of himself.  He couldn’t say that he’d have done the same thing had the choice been his and the family some random enemy, but then _he_ wasn’t insane.  Tom really had been pretty far gone by that point.

And Tom _had,_ even in that mental state, tried to let Lily live.  The fact that he’d done that for Severus proved to Harry that Tom had held some form of affection for the potions master even then, though his tattered soul had not allowed it to be anything truly meaningful.

After running it through his head several more times, Harry found himself wondering if the new and improved Lord Voldemort would be affected should he discover that he’d killed his own daughter.  He gave it some thought with what all he now knew about Tom’s character and he decided that it actually would disturb the man.  Surely not as much as it would any normal person – and he’d certainly never allow anyone to see it – but Harry was convinced that it would be difficult for him.

That thought made Harry wonder how Tom would feel about finding out that Harry was his grandson.  _That_ little detail was definitely going to throw him for a loop.  Of course, he’d have to verify it before he’d believe it, but once he had…  It would be interesting to see his reaction.

The new Tom was almost disturbingly… _human_.  His feelings for Severus alone were proof of a softer side that he tried so very hard to hide.  Over the last three months, Tom’s relationship with Severus had not changed much since that first night.  Tom had not cursed the man once in that time.  Even when Severus delivered some really infuriating news, Tom now tended to curse the next most convenient Death Eater instead – which seemed to confuse Severus to no end.

Their odd relationship had very little overt affection to it.  Severus would stay after a meeting or show up in the evening at Tom’s summons.  They might share dinner or a cup of tea in silence, and then they’d retire to the bedroom where Severus would let his Lord do anything he wanted to him – blatantly enjoying all of it.  After, they’d both crawl under the covers and go to sleep without touching each other.  In the morning, Tom would get up first and have his shower.  When he came out of the bathroom, he’d leave the bedroom and go about his day, leaving Severus to get ready himself, then leave without even a parting comment passing between them.

Harry, with his unique insight into the thought processes of the Dark Lord knew that Tom actually did care about Severus, increasingly so, but he truly did not have the first clue about what it was to be in a relationship.  It was something he’d never done before.  Every intimate experience in his life had been a casual thing, generally with his followers.  The only reason he’d even slept with Morgana was because he’d been intrigued by the idea of who her father was, and there had been no affection on either of their parts – just two powerful people having a go at each other. 

Harry couldn’t help but feel badly for Severus, who seemed to be blatantly confused by Tom’s behavior.  The Dark Lord demanded to be called by his given name when they were alone together, and he was almost _gentle_ with the potions master.  Tom let him sleep in his _bed_ with him, yet in every other way, he seemed practically indifferent to the situation.  Except that he no longer cursed him.  Poor, poor, Severus – being courted by the Dark Lord and he didn’t even know it.  It still made Harry chuckle a bit to think of it.

With a sigh, Harry went back into Tom’s memories.  He was up to 1981 now, so he only had eighteen more years to go in Tom’s life.  He’d never really appreciated before just how much older than him Tom was, but the man had done a hell of a lot in his seventy years.  He’d learned a hell of a lot, too.  Honestly, without access to his memories, Harry could not even guess how he could have possibly challenged Tom Riddle, equal power or no.

* * *

 

**Seven Months Later**

**|3 years 10 months in Azkaban|**

**\18 June 2000/**

“My Lord,” Severus knelt, bowing his head.

Tom glanced at him, then flicked his wrist, closing and warding the door.  “We’re private, Severus,” he said, leaning back in his chair to focus on the potions master.  “What brings you here?”

Severus rose smoothly and took a seat across the desk from Tom.  It had taken him a while to train him to take such liberties when they were alone together, but Tom was pleased with the progress he’d made thus far.  Severus looked more nervous than usual though, which concerned Tom a bit.  He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like this.

“I’ve just come from an Order meeting,” Severus explained readily enough though there was a hint of hesitation beneath every word.  “Now that Fudge is gone, Albus intends to have Harry Potter exonerated.”

Tom frowned thoughtfully.  It had been almost two years since the ritual.  He’d almost discounted the Phoenix’s words regarding his so-called “equal”.  Part of him was convinced that he should, but…  Well, there had to be a reason that brat continued to survive against him.  That was in no way normal.  No one should live once Lord Voldemort decided that they should die.  Only Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter had ever really done so.  And Albus had decades of experience on Tom and very nearly as much power.  Harry Potter seemed to survive on luck alone.  It was absurd.  No one was _that_ lucky.

 _He will come to you,_ he recalled the phoenix saying.  So he’d probably have to get out of Azkaban first then.  He permitted himself a small sigh, “I see.”

Severus looked unnerved by Tom’s calm acceptance.  “You already knew?” Severus ventured cautiously.

“I had reason to suspect it was coming,” Tom replied mildly.  “Has he apprised you of his intentions?”

“I believe there is naught but formalities remaining.  He has already gotten Minister Scrimgeour and Madam Bones on his side, and I expect he’s gotten at least close to a majority of the Wizengamot primed to vote in his favor.”

Tom nodded, not surprised.  If Dumbledore was serious about this, he wouldn’t want to leave anything to chance by letting his intentions leak out before he was as ready as he could possibly be.  “Very well.  We’ll put a token effort into fighting it just to make the old man comfortable.”

“If I may ask…”

“You may always _ask_ , Severus,” Tom offered, smirking internally at the slight flush of pleasure his words inspired in the other man.

Severus cleared his throat quietly, then pressed on, “Honestly, I expected this news to displease you,” he said carefully.  “Would I be correct to assume that you have plans for the boy following his release?”

Tom forced his face to remain impassive, though he was grimacing on the inside.  He had _two_ sets of plans, in fact.  One that he _wanted_ to carry out, and one that he knew he was probably going to have to carry out.  All he said was, “Four years in Azkaban at his age, Severus, there is every chance he is not even sane anymore.  Even if he is, I doubt he will ever be the same.  I have plans, yes, but I shall wait and see who Harry Potter has become before acting on them.”

Severus nodded thoughtfully.

“Keep me appraised of the progress on the case,” Tom said finally.

 _Yes, please do,_ Harry seconded.  From the sound of it, his time in Azkaban was nearly at an end.  He drew out of Tom’s mind when it became evident that they were going to call it an early night.  He’d not learn anything more of interest tonight.  And as much as he enjoyed “joining” their evenings together, he actually wasn’t in the mood after hearing that.

This, Harry could only imagine, was what he’d been waiting for – the reason he’d been wise not to simply leave.  After all, he’d have been a fugitive if he’d “escaped” from Azkaban.  This way, he’d be exonerated with an official apology from the Ministry, and most likely be restored in the eyes of the public.  He could do a lot of damage with his public image redeemed.

The real question, in his mind, was what the hell was Albus playing at?  Why had the man suddenly become convinced that Harry was innocent?  Or had he known all along?  What had been the point in allowing Harry to spend four years in Azkaban, unless he was hoping that Harry would lose touch with reality enough to become a more malleable weapon?  Was it an attempt at some sort of sympathy play, making him out to be the victim of the Ministry?  Or Voldemort, actually.  Though Tom hadn’t had anything to do with Harry’s incarceration, it probably wouldn’t be too hard for Albus to suggest that he _had_ been.  It was easy to convince people that a Dark Lord was responsible for just about any evil plot, after all.

Harry wasn’t sure exactly what was going on, but he was convinced that Dumbledore stood to gain something from allowing Harry to be convicted and locked up for four years, then released.  He did not doubt that this was all part of that barmy old man’s grand scheme for his pathetic interpretation of the “Greater Good”.

There was one conclusion that Harry came to that night that he knew he’d have to act on.  He needed to work through his anger against Dumbledore before the old coot showed up.  It really wouldn’t do to let the man take one glance into his eyes and see that Harry would kill him sooner than look at him.  That would give away the whole game, and Harry was firmly done with being an idiotic Gryffindor.  From now on… Gods help him… he was going to embrace the Slytherin in his blood.  And Albus Dumbledore was going to deeply regret the day he allowed Harry out of his manipulative influence.

* * *

 

**Three Months Later**

**|4 years, 1 month in Azkaban|**

**\21 September 2000/**

Harry pulled himself to his feet when he heard the footsteps approaching.  _It must be that time,_ he thought to himself.  He quickly coached himself once more to occlude his absolute loathing of the arrogant fool that had taken it upon himself to control Harry’s life.  _He will get what he deserves when the time is right,_ Harry reminded himself.

With that in mind, he leaned casually against the wall of his cell and watched with a small smirk and tremendous satisfaction when they saw him.  Dumbledore was in the front with Severus and Shacklebolt flanking him a step behind.  All three of them stuttered in their steps when they saw Harry.  All were fairly stoic when they wished to be, but Harry didn’t miss the bewilderment and shock they each tried to hide.

“Well,” Harry said flippantly, “It’s about time.  I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me.”

“Harry,” Dumbledore said with a grandfatherly twinkle.

It made Harry want to rip his head off, but he restrained himself and managed to keep the battle entirely internal thanks to the last three months of careful preparation for this moment.

“You look better than I expected, to be honest,” the old coot said pleasantly.

“Yes,” Harry drawled sardonically, “It’s been a lovely little holiday, but I expected you’d be coming to get me at some point.  You do still expect me to kill Voldie, right?”

Severus’ eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly at that.  Harry was sure he’d not have seen it had he not been looking for it.  He didn’t let on that he’d noticed anything.

“Mr. Potter,” Shacklebolt said disapprovingly, “no one expects you to kill Voldemort.”  Harry gave him mental props for saying the name without flinching.  “You’ve already done more than anyone could have expected, not least of which serving four years in Azkaban that you did not deserve.”

“Figured that out, have you?” Harry asked with a small smile, keeping all bitterness from his tone, eyes, and body through sheer force of will.  “So what tipped you off?”

“New evidence was brought to light a few months ago,” Shacklebolt answered neutrally.

Harry lifted an eyebrow questioningly.

“Harry, we should probably talk about this after we’re out of here,” Dumbledore suggested.

Harry couldn’t help but smirk a bit, “Why, is this place making you uncomfortable?”

Dumbledore eyed Harry warily, “How have you been so unaffected here, Harry?”

“I’m a survivor, sir,” Harry replied, promising himself to wash his mouth out with soap later after calling that bastard “sir”.  “I survived Voldemort when I was a year old.  I survived the Dursleys for years, and you’re well aware of everything I survived at Hogwarts.  This is just one more thing that I had to learn to survive.  Luckily for the wizarding world, I did,” he said pointedly to Albus.

The headmaster seemed to sag under that comment.  “Yes, Harry.  You’re right, of course.  I was a fool to believe you could have been responsible for Arabella's death.”

That caught Harry’s attention real damn fast, though he was pretty sure that he controlled his sudden attention.  “So, what was this new evidence?” he pressed.

“A petty thief was caught a few months ago,” Dumbledore explained.  “While he was being questioned under Veritaserum it came to light that he was an illegal animagus, and had actually witnessed what happened.  His testimony exonerated you.”

“I see,” Harry said neutrally.  What Dumbledore had just said was on par with what Harry had told the DMLE when he’d been arrested.  The problem, of course, was that he’d lied.  Upon realizing that they meant to persecute him, he’d decided that it would be best to claim innocence than admit that he was pretty sure he'd accidentally killed her in the process of fighting for his life.  What this meant was that Dumbledore’s “witness” was bullshit.  The man had no more evidence proving Harry’s innocence than he’d had four years ago, yet his opinion appeared to have changed entirely.  Harry wondered if the old man had personally planted the memory in the mind of this “petty thief”.  “So I’ve been exonerated.  They realized their mistake and just decided to let me go free?  No harm, no foul?”

“That’s right,” Dumbledore said cheerfully.  “It was in the Prophet this morning, Harry.  The world knows of your innocence.”

Harry’s occlumentic shields got a mother of a workout keeping him outwardly neutral.  Four years in this hellhole, and they were just going to let him go and assume bygones would be bygones?  Fuck, they really were too stupid to live.


	5. The Difference Four Years Makes

**|ONE WEEK LATER|**

**\28 September 2000/**

It had been a week since he’d left Azkaban.  Harry still found himself uncomfortable when surrounded by too many people.  Sure, he’d spent a lot of his time incarcerated in Tom’s head, but only one person ever touched Tom and he rarely touched anyone but Severus.  He also spent a lot of his time alone.  Being around people again was… distasteful.

After leaving Azkaban, Dumbledore, Shacklebolt, and Severus had taken Harry back to Grimmauld Place, which seemed to have continued functioning as the Order’s headquarters over the last four years despite the fact that _Harry_ owned the house and he was absolutely certain that no one had asked permission.  He hadn’t mentioned it, of course.  The good, self-sacrificing, Gryffindor Savior wouldn’t mind.  Harry couldn’t help but find it fairly amusing that no one seemed to have even considered the fact that he might have changed after four years in that vile prison.

The reality, of course, was that he bore virtually no resemblance to the boy he’d been going in.  In four years, he’d lived seventy years through Voldemort’s eyes.  He’d discovered that he had a grandfather.  A grandfather who happened to be the one who’d killed his parents and countless others, but a grandfather nonetheless. And he’d learned the true character of one Albus Dumbledore, supposed beacon of the much vaunted – highly overrated – Light.

Presently, Harry was closeted in the library idly paging through various books on Light magic – not necessarily because he was that interested but because he knew virtually everything about Dark Magic.  Certainly nothing in this redacted library could begin to approach his knowledge in most subjects.  Only in the Light magicks was his knowledge truly lacking.  Of course, unlike Tom, Harry had no instinctive hatred of any and all things Light.  He hated Dumbledore and the Ministry, but he wasn’t quite so biased as to equate them with the entire branch of magic.  Most of the mindless sheep of the wizarding world knew very little of magic beyond their Hogwarts education and a specific trade.  That fact disgusted Harry nearly as much as it did Tom.  That a people blessed in such a way would be so… mundane.

“Harry?”

His eyes snapped up from his book at the sound of Hermione’s hesitant voice.  He offered her a small smile, though he was sure that he still wasn’t very good at those by the way she looked even more uneasy.  He let the attempt fall away and simply tried to appear non-threatening as she approached.  This was the first time he’d seen her since leaving Azkaban.  She had not, apparently, had anything to do with the Order since graduating.

“Hello, Hermione,” he said neutrally.  Ron had been here when Harry had arrived, as had Ginny.  Neither had known what to make of him, but it was clear that they’d both been expecting the same boy they’d last seen four years ago.  They’d mutually avoided each other since that first awkward meeting.

Hermione lowered herself into a chair facing Harry in front of the fireplace.  She’d grown up well, he couldn’t help but note.  She’d definitely grown into her beauty, and now carried a calm confidence that proved she had grown up mentally in a way that Ron and Ginny had yet to do.  Oh, they were both different, but not in the same way.

“How are you?” Hermione chose to start.

Harry gave the question the moment of thought that it deserved.  It was a question he’d not bothered to ask himself in some time.  He felt Severus stop outside the door and did a quick mental survey of the house through the wards that no one expected him to know how to control.  The house was mostly empty at the moment.  Remus was up in his room, most likely unconscious after being out on assignment for Dumbledore all night.  Mostly everyone had been avoiding the house since Harry had quietly but firmly informed them at the little Welcome Home party they’d thrown him the second night that he would be more comfortable alone in _his_ house.

Once he was sure that Severus was the only one eavesdropping, Harry answered.  “I’m well enough, I suppose.  I’m still adjusting to being… out.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said through a bone-weary sigh.  “I did _everything_ I could think to try to get you out of there, but…”

“You were a sixteen-year-old muggleborn witch and they were all happy in their delusions,” Harry finished bluntly when she hesitated.

“Yeah,” she agreed with a sad smile.  “When they started threatening to throw me in a cell next to yours if I didn’t shut up…” she looked terribly guilty.  “Gods, Harry, if I’d thought there was even the slightest chance that my persistence would have done any good…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry interjected sincerely.  “Honestly, Hermione, I don’t blame you.  You did the right thing.  You’d have accomplished nothing but to get yourself in trouble and I don’t doubt they’d have done it.  The Ministry is entirely corrupt.”

Her shoulders slumped with relief and she lowered her face to stare at her lap while she wiped discreetly at her eyes.  A long moment of silence passed wherein the fire crackled and Severus remained a silent sentinel outside the door.  Harry was half tempted to invite the man to join them, but he wouldn’t be able to speak as candidly in his presence without raising questions as to why.  For now, it was better to let the man think he was unnoticed.

“What…” Hermione’s voice interrupted the silence again.  “What do you plan to do now?”

Harry considered her objectively for a moment.  She wasn’t one of Dumbledore’s pawns, but she was a mudblood – er, muggleborn.  Well, if she betrayed him, he could always adjust his plans, he supposed.  They weren’t very defined plans, anyway.  And it would be good to know once and for all if she would be able to handle what he’d become.

But was he ready for Severus to take this information to Tom?

“I-I mean,” she stuttered slightly when he’d spent too long staring at her expressionlessly for her comfort.  “After what the Ministry did to you…  I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t… if you didn’t want to fight for them anymore.”

Harry huffed a humorless laugh.  “Truly?  They locked me in that hellhole for four years, then just changed their mind when proof was shoved into their faces and didn’t even offer me so much as an apology,” he snapped, calming only when she flinched and paled.  Clearly spending more than two years in Tom’s head with only the company of Death Eaters had not helped his people skills.  He leaned back and ran a hand through his hair, letting out a slow sigh and hoping that he looked non-threatening.

“You know the thing that really amuses me to the point of homicide?” he said in a calm, conversational tone that did not seem to be putting Hermione at ease.  “The fact that the entirety of Wizarding Britain appears to expect me to forgive and forget and jump at the first opportunity to _save_ them all.  They’ve built their prison to torture the inmates with their own worst memories day and night, with freezing temperatures and inadequate rations, and they somehow remain delusional enough to believe that it wouldn’t change a person.  That it doesn’t destroy every soul that it touches.”

Harry turned his gaze to the crackling fire.  He’d missed this.  Sitting in front of a warm hearth, watching the dancing flames.

“What are you going to do?”  Hermione’s whispered question drew Harry out of the light trance the flames had inspired.  Her voice was just barely loud enough for him to hear and she was still very pale, he realized when he looked at her again.

“Are you afraid of me, Hermione?” he asked as gently as he was able.

She swallowed hard, then, very slowly, nodded.  “I…  I don’t know what to think,” she added quickly, as though in apology.  “You just said that you’ve changed, and I can see clearly that you have.  I…  I don’t _think_ you’d hurt me…”  The “but” remained unvoiced.

Harry tipped his head back against his chair and let his eyes unfocus beyond Hermione, his hands resting negligently upon the armrests.  “I’ve no wish to hurt you, Hermione.  Now or ever,” he said sincerely.

“But you won’t promise that you never will,” she pointed out quietly.

“I won’t lie to you, no,” Harry admitted.  “I’m not going to pretend to know the future and I won’t assume that we could never become enemies.  It’s been four years.  I have next to no idea of who you’ve become in that time and you are very clearly uncomfortable with me.”

Hermione sighed heavily, “I’m sorry, Harry.  Honestly, I don’t _mean to be_.  You’re just _so_ different.  You’re…”  She shrugged helplessly, “You’re a little bit frightening.”  A smile faltered and died on her lips.  “I want to continue to be friends if it’s possible,” she admitted.  “You were the first friend I ever had.  You were the first person to ever completely accept me, bossy, know-it-all tendencies and all,” she chuckled weakly and Harry gave a small smile in return that felt mostly real.

“I don’t…  I’ve lost all faith in the Ministry, too.  After what happened to you, I… convinced my parents to move to Australia and I joined them there as soon as I graduated.  I don’t trust Dumbledore anymore.  He was _way_ too quick to believe that you deserved to go to Azkaban.  I’ve had nothing to do with him since I finished Hogwarts.  You’re the only reason that I’m in Britain at all, Harry, and if you don’t want me here…” she faltered, but steeled herself quickly to continue.  “If you don’t want me here, I’ll leave, but I don’t want to.  If you’re going to keep fighting Voldemort, I’ll be right beside you.  If you want to take on the Ministry, count me in.  If you just want to take your NEWTs and get a job, I’ll help you study.”

What she didn’t say was that she’d missed him, but Harry could see it in her eyes.  She didn’t say it because she didn’t know if the boy she remembered existed anymore.  Despite her doubts though, she was willing to stand by him.

Harry nodded to himself.  He’d trust Hermione.

He lifted one hand in the direction of the door and sent his magic through it to close and lock the door and raise a series of privacy wards.

Hermione jumped at the burst of magic and the sound of the door closing, and quickly looked over her shoulder at it, then turned back to Harry with wide eyes.  “H-how?” was all that she managed to say though he could see dozens of questions in her eyes.

Harry felt Severus move slowly away from the door now that he could no longer eavesdrop.  “I have not been idle these last four years,” he admitted, watching gravely as she blinked and tried to make sense of that.

“How could you have learned magic in Azkaban?” she finally gaped.

“Technically, I didn’t learn it,” Harry admitted.  “I just appropriated the memories of someone who had.”

She blinked several times, her brow furrowing in confusion.  Then her eyes darted to the scar no longer concealed on his forehead as his fringe had grown long and was now swept behind his ears.  “No,” she breathed before focusing on his eyes again.

Harry gave a tiny nod of confirmation.

Hermione sat heavily in her chair once more and Harry turned his focus back to the fire, giving her all the time she needed to adjust to the information.

About five minutes later, she finally spoke again, “You were able to explore his memories thoroughly enough to learn magic from him?”

“Not just magic,” Harry said quietly, slowly turning his gaze back to her wary brown eyes.  “I’ve been through his entire life from infancy through the present.  I’ve watched his every move from my cell for the last three years.  I know all of his plans.  All of his weaknesses.”

“Oh my God,” Hermione muttered, her tone horror-struck.  “I… you…”  She shook her head rapidly, then ground the heels of her hands into her eyes.  “Sweet, Circe.  You could…  You could destroy him right now, couldn’t you?”

“No,” Harry said quickly.  “No, I could make his life a living hell with little effort.  I don’t think I could kill him though.  I’m relatively certain that it’s no longer possible to kill him at all.”

Her eyes widened almost comically.

“He was immortal twenty years ago.  That’s how he survived having his body destroyed.  Recently, however, he’s found a _much more_ potent form of immortality.  He completed the ritual two years ago.  Killing him, at this point, would be utterly pointless.”

“You’re saying that there’s no way to overcome it?” she gasped.  “There’s no hope of defeating him?”

“Not really,” Harry admitted without much care.  “His immortality was granted by Magic itself and only Magic can revoke it.  And _that,_ I guarantee you, will not happen unless he proves unworthy of the gift.  I have no reason at all to believe that he will do so anytime soon.”

Hermione swallowed hard at the implications.  “You don’t sound overly concerned with that,” she observed at last.

Harry sighed and debated for a moment before responding.  “Tom’s original form of immortality drove him insane,” he said quietly.  “Three years ago, when Dumbledore discovered it and began destroying the artifacts Tom had employed, Tom’s sanity returned, along with a healthy increase in his magical strength.  Once he’d regained enough of his rationale to comprehend the change, he decided to allow Dumbledore to continue what he was doing whilst Tom searched out another means of immortality.

“Presently, Dumbledore believes that Tom retains only a single artifact keeping him tied to the mortal world, when in reality, Tom had that last piece destroyed himself and is now laughably superior to the old man.

“Tom is no longer a madman bent on destroying everything he dislikes, Hermione.  He is a powerful, intelligent, albeit unmerciful champion of Magic itself.  He is no longer fighting to eradicate muggles and mudblo-“ Hermione flinched and Harry grimaced, “It’s a habit I picked up in his head, Hermione.  I didn’t mean it as a demeaning term.”

She swallowed, but nodded.

Harry took a calming breath and continued.  “He is trying to protect magic and her people from the muggles who _would_ destroy us if they knew of our existence.  He is trying to preserve magic within humanity by restoring the holy days that the Ministry has banned in order to make mud-ggleborns more comfortable.  Holy days that include rituals that have evolved from the very first our ancestors discovered in order to bring magic into the first humans.  Hermione, if that is not restored, magical humans will be but a memory within the next millennium.  That is not supposition, but _fact_.”

“How can you be sure?” she asked cautiously.

“Because I can _feel_ it!  Because I can _hear_ it!  Because she _told me_!”

Harry realized that he was on his feet, towering over Hermione, and panting.  He forced himself to take several steps back and moved to stand in front of the hearth, staring into the fire while he calmed.

When he spoke again, he voice was quiet, his tone soft.  “When Tom performed the ritual, summoning magic’s aide, I was in his mind.  We’re connected.  Our minds and our magic.  He is my equal as I am his.  When he performed the ritual, Magic reached out to me as well.  We received the same gift, Hermione.”

“You’re immortal?” she breathed.

“Yes,” Harry waved dismissively.  “That’s of the barest interest compared to what else we received.  An instinctive grasp of magic.  To see it and feel it and _hear_ it as you cannot begin to imagine.  Magic is forsaking humanity, Hermione, because we have forgotten how to grasp it.  We have neglected our dues and bred out of ourselves the understanding that they’d ever existed.  It is people like Dumbledore in his self-righteous ignorance, his artless arrogance that will lead us all to our own destruction with a genial smile.  He is utterly convinced of his own superiority and has spent the better part of a century at Hogwarts breeding generations of sycophants simpering at his heels and tripping over each other to do his bidding, closing their eyes against his faults and covering their ears against any conflicting wisdom.

“Meanwhile, men like Tom Riddle, born with the power of Magic’s Chosen was so downtrodden, so suffocated, so reviled for the shade of his magic and for thinking outside Dumbledore’s precious box that he was forced to desperation to survive.  Men like him and men like me grew up at the non-existent mercies of fearful, hateful muggles.  Do you think that Tom was born evil, Hermione?  He wasn’t.  Do you think his first choice for reforming the wizarding world was bloodshed and destruction?  It wasn’t.  He dreamt of taking on the world through politics, but by the time he’d graduated Hogwarts, Dumbledore had made sure that wasn’t possible.  He’d whispered in so many ears of the _evils_ of Tom Riddle that a young man with no fortune nor family had no chance of affecting anything politically, particularly not while Dumbledore remained in power.”

“You make him sound like a tyrant,” Hermione blinked.

“He _is_ a tyrant.  Just because he disguises his orders as ‘suggestions’ and the destruction of his enemies as ‘justice’ that does not change what he is.  Name me anyone in the wizarding world whose opinion differs from Albus Dumbledore’s opinion that is not considered ‘dark’ or even ‘evil’.  Think on that for a moment.  Is Dumbledore truly the definition of all that is good and right in the world?  Or is it that everyone has been blinded to the point that they’ve allowed him to rewrite the definitions?  The only people who stand up to him are all but reviled in most ‘good’ and ‘Light’ circles.  Take the Greengrasses or the Zabinis or Waynes for example.  They’re all considered Dark even though they’ve not openly followed any dark lord in the last two centuries or more.  Why are they considered Dark?  Because they tend to be Slytherins and because they still follow old traditions.  That’s it.”

Hermione stared at him for a long moment after he’d cut off his rant in order to allow her to process.  “I turned my back on Dumbledore when he turned his on you,” she said after a minute, her voice quiet, her eyes wary.  “I said that I’d stand by you, and I meant it.  If you’re planning on taking on Dumbledore, I’ll do what I can to help.  If you…” she took a deep breath and her eyes hardened.  “If you’re going to join Voldemort…  I won’t follow him, but I’ll follow you.”

Harry sighed heavily as a tension he hadn’t even realized existed suddenly released.  Ron and Ginny had been reared from the teat to loathe all things Dark and Voldemort.  There was little chance of convincing either of them to hear him out.  There was an even smaller chance of winning over Neville, who’d grown up hating those things because they took his parents.  Luna… was anyone’s guess.  Her decidedly odd perspective on so many things made it impossible to know if she’d be vehemently one way or another or if she’d care at all.  It meant far more than he’d ever guessed it might that at least one of his friends would stand beside him.  After Azkaban, he’d honestly thought himself beyond such petty fears, but apparently he was yet as human as Tom.

“Thank you,” he whispered, as sincere as he’d ever been.  “You’ve no inkling of how much that means to me.”

She finally smiled and rose from her chair, pulling him into a hug before he’d realized her intention.  He tensed under her hold, but she didn’t let go and he slowly began to relax – though not completely.  “You’re still my best friend, Harry, no matter how much you’ve changed.”

Harry slowly wound his arms around her in return, feeling awkward yet somehow appreciative nonetheless.  “I think you’re actually my only friend at the moment, so it may be a bit redundant to declare you the ‘best’, but I shall if you wish.”

She huffed a teary laugh and drew away from him, wiping discreetly at her eyes again.

“Do you have somewhere to stay locally?” Harry asked after a moment of silence.

“No,” she admitted with a shrug.  “I just got in and came straight here.  I’d thought to get a hotel…”

“Nonsense,” Harry dismissed immediately.  “I’ve a dozen bedrooms in this house, and if the Order gets too uppity, I’ve already got some house-elves restoring Potter Manor to a livable condition…”

“House elves?” Hermione frowned.

Harry lifted an eyebrow.  “They’re treated quite well, and you’re really going to have to reexamine your ethics a bit if you’re planning on following a Dark Lord, Hermione.”

Her eyes widened, “Are you a Dark Lord?” she whispered as though someone had any chance of overhearing through the wards he’d put up.

Harry smirked at her, “Not of the sort that Tom used to be when he was crazy, but considering that I know as much Dark Magic as Tom, that revolution is not a polite process, and that I will be Dumbledore’s enemy, yes…  It would be an accurate descriptor.”

Hermione took a slow, deep breath and pressed a hand to her stomach as though she was feeling slightly nauseous.  “I knew all of that,” she said, more to herself than him.  “I knew that.  It’s just…  It’ll take a little getting used to is all.”

“Understandable,” Harry nodded.  “If you want, I’ll give honest effort to making life better for house-elves everywhere once we’ve taken over the magical world, but for now, we’re really going to have to shelve that cause.”

She huffed a slightly hysterical laugh, but she nodded.

**Author's Note:**

> As with all my work in fan fiction, I welcome anyone who is inspired by it to use my concepts and plot in any manner that strikes your fancy. I demand only that you give me credit where it is due. Beyond that, I encourage anyone interested to make my ideas your own. You can pick up from where I left off, particularly if a work is unfinished, or alter the plot so that it better suits you.
> 
> If you do utilize any of my plots or concepts, I do request that you send me a brief message and let me know where I may find your story because I would love to read it.
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed and I do appreciate every comment.


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